Colin Forbes - By Stealth

They chatted for a while and then Tweed said he was taking Paula out for a breath of fresh air. They put on their coats they had propped over chairs, thanked Burgoyne for his hospitality. Again it was a thoughtful Tweed who left the hotel with Paula at his side.

`He seemed to be making a show of pointing the finger at Willie,' Paula observed as they crossed the road towards the lakeside walk.

And very adroitly done,' Tweed agreed.

The white Volvo pulled up behind them with a screech of burning rubber. Tweed grabbed Paula round the waist, ready to shove her ahead of him and tell her to run.

`No need to call the police,' a familiar voice growled.

They swung round and Kuhlmann was stepping out of the front passenger seat, leaving his driver behind the wheel. He removed the unlit cigar from his mouth and jiggled it up and down like a conductor's baton to emphasize what he was saying.

`A fresh development. Didn't think it wise to talk over the phone when you're so close to Berliner Tor.'

`What's happened?' Tweed asked.

`Thirty minutes ago Dr Wand took off in his Lear jet from Hamburg bound for Kastrup Airport, Copenhagen.'

`That's very satisfactory. Thank you, Otto. Things seem to be working out as I foresaw. By the way, did Wand take Jules Starmberg with him?'

`No, definitely not. I dug out old photos of that villainous Luxemburger from the time when his wife was murdered. Gave them to the men watching the Lear.'

No alarm bells rang for Tweed at this information. He was too absorbed in racing over in his mind the precautions he had taken.

`And your present plan?' Kuhlmann asked.

`We are flying to Copenhagen ourselves this evening, and your co-operation has been invaluable. I've had two intriguing conversations recently.'

`Which you won't tell me about. Play it your own way. You always do.'

`Something's just struck me – I must contact Nielsen at Copenhagen police headquarters…'

`I've already done it.' Kuhlmann grinned. 'By now he will have plain-clothes men waiting at Kastrup for the Lear to land. They'll follow Wand, find out where he holes up. I'd say that wraps it up for now.'

`You think of everything. Thank you again…'

Tweed and Paula resumed their walk along the footpath by the Binnen Alster lake. They were walking through a parkland of green grassy slopes and trees. The sound of the traffic was muffled. For Paula it was dreamlike after her experience at Blankenese harbour. No one else was about as they wandered on in the chill air and the sunlight.

`It's a beautiful city,' Paula enthused. 'I love the green roofs of those magnificent old buildings across the lake. I suppose the roofs were once copper and have turned that colour with exposure to the elements.'

`I imagine so,' agreed Tweed.

`It's such a green city. And I love those mansard rooftops – they're so elegant. We hardly ever see them back home.'

The path curved, following the lake, and they walked under a small bridge arch. Ahead of them was a marina and an even vaster stretch of water. As Paula slipped her arm in his Tweed nodded towards the new lake.

`This is the Aussen Alster, the larger of the two lakes. You can walk for miles but I think we'd better turn back.'

`Lord, I'm revelling in the peace,' she said as they returned along the silent footpath while a breeze trawled shoals of water towards the bank.

Newman, Tweed, and Paula had an incredibly early one- course dinner in the Grill Room. Newman was always insistent on allowing plenty of time to catch a flight. Tweed would have left it to the last minute – to avoid hanging about Hamburg Airport waiting for the Copenhagen flight.

Even at that early hour they had company at a nearby table. Burgoyne and Lee, Willie and Helen, were eating a leisurely meal. Burgoyne sent over a bottle of Laurent Perrier with his compliments.

`Nice of him,' Paula commented. 'Can't think what's got into him – he's become so human.'

`Camouflage,' Newman decided. 'Incidentally, I had a chat with Helen in the lounge area before I took her here to lunch…'

He described the scene between Helen and Burgoyne. Tweed, drinking mineral water, listened with interest. Newman and Paula demolished the bottle of champagne together. It was near the end of their meal when Lee, wearing another of her off-the-shoulder dresses, wandered towards them, holding a glass of red wine.

`I'd say physically Lee was very strong,' Paula remarked.

`And she's as high as a kite,' Newman added.

`Dear Mr Tweed' – Lee leant over him, her bare arm round his shoulders – 'I need some stimulating company. Take me out for a drink later? Please!'

`I'm sorry, but we're-' Tweed began.

That was when Lee tilted her glass and a cascade of red wine poured over his suit jacket. Lee was appalled. She grabbed a napkin and began dabbing at the cloth as she babbled on.

`I'm so dreadfully sorry. Red wine is the worst…'

`It's all right,' Tweed said standing up, 'but I'd better go to my room and change.' He looked at Newman. 'If you could handle paying all our bills? Good. And we do have loads of time…'

Newman called for the bill as Paula stood up. She felt a little woozy. Too much champagne after a long day. `I'll go up and pack my sponge bag,' she told him. She walked out of the Grill Room into the lobby.

Paula paused at the hotel exit. Something seemed to be going on outside. A uniformed doorman she hadn't seen before came up to her, all excited.

`They are making a film outside, using the hotel as a background. I don't know who the star is.'

I might as well get a breath of fresh air, clear my head, Paula thought. She vaguely noticed the doorman's uniform didn't fit him too well. She walked down the steps carefully and the doorman ran ahead of her to open the doors.

`Does this often happen?' she asked.

`First time I have ever known it to happen. It will be good publicity for the Four Seasons.'

The night air was cold, welcome and refreshing. Raising a hand, she shielded her eyes from the glare of the arc lights. Several white vans were parked alongside the kerb. Each carried the legend

INTER-VISION TV UND RADIO GMBH.

Two cameras on tripods were aimed at a point at the edge of the parkland opposite. A couple, a man and woman, were embracing each other. Paula counted about a dozen men in white coats and wearing white gloves. A man she presumed was the director carried a bullhorn.

A generator thumped away on a pavement near the open doors of one of the vans. Beyond the open doors of the nearest van she could see a small amount of equipment and another stockily built man in the shadows inside who also wore a white coat.

She wandered a few feet along the pavement to get a closer view. The activity was frenetic. Was it really necessary or did TV crews think that was the way they were supposed to act? She paused by the open doors of the nearest van.

The next moment she felt two pairs of hands grasp her, lifting her off her feet and propelling her inside the van. She opened her mouth to scream her head off. A hand clamped over her mouth. She bit the fingers almost to the bone. A snarling voice yelled 'Bitch!' and she was hurled towards the shadowy figure deep inside. She broke the momentum by forcing herself sideways, crashing into the wall of the vehicle. The glare of an arc-light was projected into the interior.

`This is crazy! Bastards!' she shouted.

One of the two assailants who had grabbed her from behind came at her, hands clawed to grasp her throat. She whipped out the canister of hair spray from her shoulder bag, aimed it at his eyes, pressed the button as she half- shut her own eyes. Her attacker squealed, clapped both hands hard over his eyes. She moved closer, kneed him between the legs. He squealed again, bent over double, his hands still covering his eyes. Pressing her back against the side of the van, she kicked his head, and he staggered back against the opposite side of the van.